Monster
what we don't understand we make into monsters; the title immediately invites us to identify a villain, but as the layers are peeled back – as perspectives shift from one adult to another and finally to the children themselves, the question folds in on itself: is the monster a person? or is it the unspoken fear lodged between what is said and what is meant? or maybe it's the societal pressure that contorts intentions, or perhaps the crushing weight of loneliness; eventually, the "monster" makes itself out to be less a tangible entity and more a pervasive blindness; everybody thinks they understood the situation, and everybody had their culprit, but everybody failed to grasp the children's unfolding truth until too late.
children adapt quickly when the world demands it of them, yet the sheer weight of adult troubles can scarily glide over them; each dawn is, for them, genuinely new, so when the narratives of adults clash as whispers turn to accusations and anxieties paint the world in distressful colors, children might be perceiving something else entirely; adults might see "the problem" as a complicated hunt for who's to blame, but this adult concern barely touches the real, urgent world the children are building for themselves; their world is often about helping each other survive and understanding one another in ways that are beyond how adults think; they find their own balance and their own ways to make sense of things that seem confusing, whether that be a shared glance, an unspoken pact, or a secret haven built away from the storm of adult emotions.
for in their makeshift sanctuaries lies their resilience, but also the silent, enduring question of what pieces of childhood, and our own humanity, are forever lost to the monsters of our making.
as with every Koreeda film, the child actors are extraordinary.
"If only some people can have it, that's not happiness. That's just nonsense. Happiness is something anyone can have."